Smith was pleased with the progress that had been made, though he felt the facilities could use some improvement. The dining hall floor was rotting under campers’ feet. The location of the hospital was still considered a health risk. There was no open space for field sport, and the rope bridge across the swamp was precarious at best. A stream ran through the middle of camp. When water levels were low, the stream was small enough that you could almost jump over it, but in the spring and early summer, when water levels were high, a 15-metre stretch of water divided the camp. The bridge that had been built to span the divide was now rickety and in need of replacement.
In the fall of 1956, the camp committee reviewed its options. It could replace the existing bridge, fill in the stream (eliminating what is now the swamp) or build a causeway. The most satisfactory solution was to build a causeway. The Prentice Excavating Company was hired to build the causeway and put in a culvert for $500 (although the project ended up coming in over budget by about $150). It’s still there of course, though it has been washed out and built back up a number of times over the years.
To bring the camp back up to what Smith considered a proper standard would take a considerable investment. Donations from groups such as the Y’s Menettes Club and the Y’s Foremen’s Club helped to cover the cost of some improvements, but the initial influx of donations for big-ticket items quickly started to wane. Recognizing the gap between what needed to be done and available resources, Smith started calling for a long-term plan to cope with capital improvements.
Enrolments continued to hit their maximum, and campers’ fees helped with some of the early site development, which in turn allowed for development of the core program. A new dock system enhanced waterfront programming. The summer of 1955 saw the introduction of boating and canoeing tests. Certificates were presented at the closing ceremonies to those campers who attained certain skill levels. Sailing began in 1956, and that same year a portion of the swamp was back filled which helped to eliminate a prime breeding ground for mosquitoes and create a much-needed playfield.
Traditional programs continued to be a must in the minds of campers. Regattas, aquatic meets, pageants, field meets, Olympic days and lumbermen suppers created opportunities for all-camp participation and excitement. Sunday evening “musicales” were launched as a regular event and many campers went home with a new appreciation for music.
Then, as now, the closing ceremony complete with a blazing triangle was an important part of the camp experience. As Smith wrote in the annual report for 1954, “the closing ceremonial with its underlying religious theme and blazing triangle on the waters, will stand uppermost in a boy’s memories as he reflects back on his summer’s experience.”
One thing that probably didn’t remain uppermost in their minds—at least not in a good way—was the dining experience, which Smith called “pathetic.” Not only was space in the dining hall a problem—there wasn’t nearly enough space to accommodate everyone—there were also concerns about safety. Smith reported to the camp council that the dining hall was a “death trap” that should be condemned due to risk of fire and collapse. In 1957 a camp inspection report by committee member Stan Wood provided a written detailed report on the poor condition of the camp buildings overall. Wood concluded that the present buildings provided only one-third of the space requirements stipulated in building regulations of the day. Specifically, he noted that most of the cabins and the hospital were inadequate for their intended use.
While other buildings were needed, Smith understood that site development hinged on the placement of the new dining hall; until a new dining hall went up, or at least a site for it was determined, it would be difficult to know how to proceed with new cabins. The old dining hall, is the building now known as Day Camp Central. Back in the day, there was a tiny kitchen and a small area for campers to be seated to eat their meals. The new dining hall was the cinder block building directly across the volleyball court. Although it could house most of the campers for meals, the food was still prepared in the old dining hall and hauled across from there to what was then known as the Rec Hall.
The camp committee set up a sub-committee, chaired by George Strohacker, to develop a master plan for rebuilding the camp. The committee did its best to force the hand of the ultimate decision-makers, the Hamilton Y’s Board of Directors. At its January 9 meeting, the committee passed a motion stating that it was “deeply concerned” about the “serious condition” of the building and implored the Y’s Board of Directors to take action. The motion went on to say that the Camp Committee did not feel it could accept responsibility for the building “from the standpoint of the safety and practicability” during the upcoming season. The outcome was that the board agreed to visit the camp to see the buildings first hand and, at the same time, to get better acquainted with the needs of the camp.
In the meantime, the camp committee acted where it could. Working at a feverish rate that spring, the committee came up with its Master Rehabilitation Plan, complete with a detailed site map proposing building locations. Committee member George Hemingway suggested that if the hospital could be built in 1957 and financed over several years, he felt a group could be found to provide the funding.
He was right, and Hemingway was able to spark the interest of the Mount Hamilton Y’s Men’s Club. The club even agreed to supply a work crew.
The committee determined that two new sleeping cabins were required—one to replace a run-down cabin that was already 30 years old, and one to eliminate the need of housing two cabin groups in the upstairs of the recreation hall (Onalea). In March 1957, three members of the Camp Committee went to The Sportsman Show to look at camp equipment. They ended up being singularly impressed with a new type of pre-fabricated log cabin produced by Pan-Abode.
As a result, over the next few months things began to move quickly. By the end of the year a new cedar log hospital, with three bedrooms, a sitting area, a small kitchen/dispensing area and indoor plumbing was erected and stained. Today, it's the Bayer Den, and indeed many of the other cabins from that period are still standing.
The work of many hands
“It’s amazing how many years Wanakita has survived because of the volunteers,” says Ted Reid, a former assistant camp director from the 1960s and 1970s. Much of the volunteer effort came from members of the camp committee, which remained the primary decision-making body for the camp. This was a group of men who were active in the Hamilton Y and shared a personal commitment to the camp and what it represented.
Says Reid, “Without those guys, this place would not have existed because they could not have kept the facilities in the shape they had to be in … [they] came up and did major projects. These were men with families who’d come up on weekends—in horrible weather, black flies and mosquitoes—even though they didn’t go to camp or have kids who went to camp.”
In addition to supplying brain and muscle power, the camp committee also managed to scrounge a lot of the supplies and materials they needed. That meant the YMCA didn’t have to spend a whole lot of money to keep the camp going.
“At that point,” notes Reid, Wanakita was “a little bit mystical” to anyone who hadn’t attended it. Because the camp was so far from Hamilton, the personal connection needed to build financial support for Wanakita was lacking.
But, time marches on, and toward the end of the 1950s, the role that had been assumed by the camp committee brought as many problems as it did benefits. Says Rob Heming, “The problem with a lot of the 60s issues for Wanakita, I think, was that the camp committee ran things. They were operational. And that’s not good” in part because it took responsibility for the camp away from those who had the greatest interface with it: the directors and staff.
The camp also had a growing base of alumni to draw on for volunteer labour. And the camp budget was growing as well, allowing for the purchase of badly needed equipment. The construction of the old Health Centre in 1957 marked the end of an era for the camp committee, says Reid. The committee played an active role in this project, but it would be the last building they constructed. Nevertheless, their legacy remained. “It was those camp committees,” says Reid, “that kept Wanakita going and helped the camp survive long enough until it became more independent.”
By 1960 Keith Smith had moved on, though many of the traditions he established are still present in the Wanakita of today. But, with his departure, the camp lost a continuity of leadership. In the decade to follow, there were five directors in fairly quick succession: Mearl Thompson (1960-61), Dennis McClelland (1962-64), Dick Woods (1965), Al Moffat (1966-1968), and Earl Davis (1969). Each arrived with his own personality, camping philosophy, and leadership style. Fortunately, the camp had hired a well-respected staff member, Roger Coles, as assistant director who functioned as the day-to-day leader. Says Don Hambley, a counsellor during that time, “The staff of the 60s were called the ‘lost boys’ because there was never any continuity in programming.”
Site development reached a standstill. Syd Stone, Chairman of the Finance Committee, noted in his 1964 report, capital improvements were put on hold awaiting the report of the Long Range Planning Committee on the Dining and Kitchen Facilities and a “plot plan.” In the meantime the staff turned to smaller projects such as painting the floor in the Recreation Hall, putting down linoleum in the hospital, beautifying the area around the hospital, adding shelving units to cabins, and upgrading the out-tripping equipment.
Development of the dining hall, too, was in a holding pattern. The same building that Smith described as “pathetic” and a “death trap” was still being used ten years later, and it would still be used for two more years until, at long last and after endless debate, the ground was broken for the new hall. Work began on the west side of the swamp adjacent to the old dining hall and, in time for the beginning of the 1966 season, Fenton Hall was completed. With its church-like arched beams and spectacular lake view, the new hall was a major achievement. It could easily seat 250 campers and staff. For the first time in several years, the entire camp could gather under one roof for meals. The building also provided a spacious new venue for camp programs such as dances and skit nights.
Says Don McCreesh, “the arrival of Fenton Hall was a huge surprise the year it was built. When I became a member of the Camp Committee in the 70’s, I learned the story of why it happened so fast and why it is designed as it is. Don Hall Construction had been contracted to build a church in Hamilton but the congregation went broke and the arching beams had already been purchased. Don Hall was a Y volunteer and donated the materials and his labour team to complete the construction in a matter of months … [it] allowed those of us on staff to participate in the demolition of the old dining hall the following fall. I remember a group of us tying a cable to the main uprights and then to the bumper of the camp pickup. We then took off at full speed across the tennis court and came to an abrupt stop. Effective but not sure how healthy it was for the pickup!”
Having a building like that allowed the camp to get on with expansion, including developing into the thirty acres of land on the other side of the causeway. Says Steve Heming, “building Fenton Hall changed the world.”
Martin Short's mother's entry in the guestbook. "Marty's 1st camp period, but it will not be his last!!"
Coping with change
Until the mid-60s, the kids' time at camp was planned for them from sun up to sun down. The 60s being the 60s, that authority was questioned out of a growing belief that campers should be free to participate in the decision-making process. Through their participation in scheduling and programming, it was believed, campers would enhance their personal and decision-making skills.
Of course, that meant a fundamental shift in the role of counsellors from leaders to facilitators. To enact the change, Dick Woods was brought in as camp director in 1965 and Ted Reid, a long-time camper and staff member, was appointed assistant camp director.
“Dick and I were brought in because of our background,” recalls Reid. “I didn’t have the training Dick Woods had—I had some training—but I was the guy from the past who [the camp committee] felt would be accepted as assistant director.” From the beginning, it didn’t go well. “In a sense, that was Dick’s fault and my fault,” recalls Reid. “We were both pretty green.”
What they didn’t prepare for, more than anything that summer, was the intense emotional attachment that the staff had to the past, a deep-seated desire to maintain things as they were when they were campers. “I should have realized that when you are taking away from people something that they have been comfortable with all of their lives, and you try to introduce them to something new, there is going to be a real emotional explosion. Dick and I weren’t ready for it and it hit us.”
Whether they lacked the maturity to adapt—or simply refused—many of the staff took the hands-off approach to an extreme. Rather than help the kids plan their day, they would just lie on the beach all afternoon letting their campers run rampant.
Says Reid, “I still remember standing up on the fireplace stoop and saying: ‘That will not happen again and if I see it, somebody will be going home. You know what you are supposed to be doing and are just playing games with us. So get back to work and get it done.’“
Undaunted, staff were riding the camp buses back to the city between periods telling anyone who would listen that the new approach was a disaster. Before long the Y leadership in Hamilton caught wind. It all made for a very difficult summer. “I have friends that I grew up with at Wanakita who still won’t talk to me because of the Dick Woods year,” says Reid.
“I felt good by the end of camp when I went home,” says Reid. “Things were starting to come together … [and] the counselors were having a good time because they began to feel the advantages of the new system.”
While the negative feedback had reached the Hamilton Y, news of the turn-around did not. Woods was fired and Reid was asked to take over the directorship, a position he declined. He would return to camp, but not until years later. The idea of camper-centered programming was abandoned for a time, and it wasn’t until the 1970s that the concept would be attempted again.
Nevertheless, the whole concept of camping was changing. By the end of the 60s, the city of Hamilton began running more elaborate day programs at local parks. With them, parents began asking, “Why should I send my kid all the way to Wanakita when I can send him down the street for a lot less and my kid can be home at night.”
Specialty camps, ones with specific skills on offer, were also popping up. “When hockey camps started to build and baseball camps started to build,” says Ted Reid, “the interest in the wilderness camps started to fade. And that’s when Wanakita started to die.”
“It is my duty to point out to you,” Syd Stone reported to the finance committee he chaired, “that we are slowly using up our reserve fund and, unless we exert every effort to increase our camper attendance, our financial picture will not improve.”
The staff fought back by changing the focus of the programming. In addition to the traditional activities, there were soon Gold Rush Days, Pioneer Days, and other all-camp events. And, in the fall of 1968, they did something that even a few years before would have been beyond consideration: they invited girls. For some it was a bit of news that trumped the moon landing. In the summer of 1969, forty-seven girls entered a territory where (at least in the recollection of the campers and staff) there had never been girls before.
The Hamilton Spectator ran the story, and quoted one camper as saying that “We missed our skinny dip in the morning. And they put girls on the wake-up call, so we had to sleep decent.” Another slightly more enthusiastic camper admitted the girls added “zip” and improved the sightseeing, “but not much else.”
“Initially there was a lot of resistance,” recalls Don Hambley. “The guys didn’t want to have girls invade the camp and be part of it—it was kind of like a men’s club. It took awhile, but slowly everyone realized it was the way to go just from a financial perspective—to keep things solvent. … the girls added an interesting balance and chemistry to the whole mix.”
In any event, the change was one that the campers and staff would ultimately embrace, some more enthusiastically than others. In 1971, Wanakita sent its first girls’ trip into Algonquin Park. In his annual report of 1971, outtrip and campcraft director Ted Black called it “one of the greatest developments in outtripping, as we know it.”
The trip was led by counsellor Jo-Anne Beveridge. Due to concerns about sending girls out into the bush alone, the camp decided to send along a male junior counsellor, a hulk of a kid named Mark Sazio. He was the son of Ralph Sazio, the coach of the Hamilton Tiger Cats. Whether it was because of Mark, or the bugs, or a desire to stay in camp, the campers by and large didn’t want to go. So, the ones that did want to go joined with the boys trip and—voila!—co-ed tripping was born. Ted Black was a fan and reported that, “I believe that the establishment of co-ed tripping at Wanakita would be the most powerful tool we could find—helping us reach our goals as a co-educational camp.”
It didn’t last long. Trip recruitment picked up, and campers quickly demonstrated that they could handle themselves just fine without the assistance, ahem, of their male counterparts. In time, all-girl trips became the norm rather than the exception.
What people wanted from the camp experience was becoming more sophisticated and the camp rose to the challenge. The cabins had been updated and expanded, the programming including arts and sports alongside the traditional camp craft, and the camper population was co-ed.
As well, the camp started to think not just of children, but of families. The idea was to make more use of the growing facility, but there was also an understanding that Wanakita was well suited to offer further opportunities to the members of the Hamilton Y.
So, in the summer of 1969, family camp was inaugurated and a one-week family camp was offered at the end of August, the week just after period D. The idea had immediate appeal and was fully booked well in advance. During family camp, the usual camp activities were arranged—both kids and parents were welcome to join in on the activities, but parents weren’t obliged to participate. Certainly, no one knew at the time how the concept would grow, develop, and ultimately add to the culture of the camp.
Next: A New Era
The best day off ever
By Gord Parsons
Memories of “Day Off Adventures” are often the first to be discussed when Wanakita Alumni meet up. There are certainly some crazy things that went on when staff blew off a bit of steam away from camp. However, I don’t think there was ever a more unique “Day Off Adventure” than the one that I was part of in the Spring of 1988.
During our yearly spring visit to Kilcoo to play ball hockey, somehow a little idea of a road trip to the ocean was hatched and then morphed into some sort of challenge, dare or bet between Lub, the director of Kilcoo, and Steve Heming. Not to back down to a challenge, the notion of a road trip to Cape Cod was born.
Given some time off work from a Friday night to a Sunday morning, five intrepid travelers, and a special kidnapped guest, embarked on a whirlwind trek to the U.S. East Coast with the sole mindset of jumping in the ocean and heading back to camp. Jeff Davis, Cody Gaynor, Chris Moore, Darryl Hargot and I piled into J.D.’s car and left camp at 5:30 Friday night.
Crossing the border at the Thousand Islands Bridge was the first real challenge of the trip. The US Border Patrol was not too keen on admitting five young guys whose purpose for travel in the US, when asked, was “to jump in the ocean.” We were quickly sent into secondary inspection, in the “hanger,” for a full car search and interrogation. We had attracted quite a bit of attention to ourselves and things got really dicey. Our situation went from bad to worse when first the officers inspected Cody’s ID, a Student Card that had a picture of him looking quite like Charles Manson, and then made chase after Chris as he bee-lined it to the bathroom on the way in for questioning. Although he really needed to pee, his timing was really poor. How we ever got through is a mystery to this day.
Travelling through the night down I -81, I – 90 and the Massachusetts Turnpike, we arrived in Provincetown on Cape Cod early on Saturday morning. Provincetown is right at the tip of the Cape at the end of the road.
True to our goal, we quickly stripped down into our underwear and jumped into the Atlantic Ocean. After taking the obligatory photos of ourselves jumping in the waves, and in front of signs that showed we actually made it to Cape Cod, we desperately needed a place to lie down and have some sort of sleep. J. D. had been driving almost non-stop, and none of us had caught more than a few winks of sleep during the ride. A grove of trees on the nearest sand dunes served the purpose. I’m sure we caught the attention of a few early morning beach goers who would have seen our underwear hanging to dry on the branches.
The last thing to do on the beach was snap some shots of our special guest traveller at the ocean. You see, we had kidnapped the Ookpick to take on our trip. For those of you who remember, the Oopick was the coveted prize of the cleanest cabin of the day. Although that little bird was well travelled, I don’t think it ever had been out of the country before.
The trip back to camp followed immediately after our purchase of souvenir t-shirts and was mostly a beeline back to camp. Our one stop was to a seafood restaurant right next to the original Mayflower ship, which is a story onto its own. All I will add is that none of us will ever order Deep Fried Scrod from a menu ever again.
After reading this tale, you might ask about whether we made it back on time for work. The answer is yes. With the sun about to rise, we climbed into our own camp beds and got about an hour or two of sleep before the neighborhood woodpecker started banging on the tin chimney of our cabin. All of us made it to breakfast on time.
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